


Dusty Tome

by Santai



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Diary/Journal, M/M, POV Tony Stark, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Tony Stark-centric, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21635296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Santai/pseuds/Santai
Summary: When Thor comes to Tony asking for his help understanding an old, mysterious book, he didn't expect to find such a connection in its pages. (Written for a prompt, full prompt in A/N)
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Comments: 56
Kudos: 231





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Prompt suggestion: Thor has been dealing with Loki's "death" by spending long hours in his brother's room. He finds a notebook with his brother's inventions and ramblings before Odin discouraged him of such nonsense and gives it to Tony to bring the inventions to life, Tony loves the person who wrote that notebook and Loki, from hiding, is sure he recognizes one of his old ideas. Curiosity might tempt him to come out of hiding...]

“You know I can’t read Viking right?”

Tony rose his eyebrow at Thor, glancing up briefly from the thick book he had been given a few moments earlier. Bound in dyed green leather and lined with what looked like it might have been actual gold, it looked like it'd come straight out of Lord of the Rings. The thick, scroll like pages were littered with weird symbols he couldn't understand, some crossed out, some scribbled in the margins and corners in the thoughts of the author.

“Especially when it’s written in needlessly dramatic cursive,” he muttered as an afterthought, eyes flicking over the loops and spirals of calligraphy Tony had only ever seen on Hallmark cards.

Thor gave an amused grunt, “I don’t require a translation, rather a decryption. There are passages in that tome that are written in some code that I fear it would take me months if not years to break.”

Tony frowned, wondering when exactly he’d given the impression of being familiar with Asgardian cryptography. “What is this book? I’m not gonna summon Cthulhu if I read this aloud am I?”

Thor didn’t share his amusement this time, heaving a deep breath before he answered, “It once belonged to one of the greatest scholars of the Nine Realms. From what I can tell that is a journal of his musings about the secrets of the universe and of life and of death and all in between. You are not dissimilar to how he once was, I had hoped perhaps you would be able to help me.”

Tony stopped read and looked up fully, “Once was?”

Thor’s expression remained passive, “He...is with the ancestors now.”

Suddenly, Tony felt like something of an asshole for the Cthulhu comment. He just went back to the page of the book he had open in his hand.

“Do you think you can help me?”

Tony shrugged as though it was nothing more than a minor favour, but the prospect of getting his hands on the inner thoughts of one of Asgard's top scientists was rapidly growing on him. He snapped the book closed and looked back to Thor, “I’ll see what I can do.

Thor slapped a heavy hand onto his shoulder and shook it a little. Tony bit bacn the wince. “You have my gratitude, Stark.”

With that, Tony was left alone with the mysterious book.

\--------

Thor had been right about the translation. Jarvis had scanned in the writing and tidied it up into something vaguely legible, setting up paragraphs hanging in blue holograms around the lab. The copies of the runes flickered and changed as Jarvis ran a translation program created based on multiple sources of information that littered the internet. It wasn’t perfect but it was serviceable as a starting point and within the hour there were a few translations complete enough to be considered readable.

Tony settled into his desk chair, coffee in hand and began reading.

The first entry looked like lesson notes, the kind of thing Tony would have written following a lecture at MIT to cement what he'd been taught, except these were a bit more advanced than mechanical engineering 101. This was fabric of the universe stuff. It took Tony a couple of gos to actually understand it fully, but it was apparently basic to the author who littered his neat rows of information with author's notes. They ranged from circles around certain phrases, to little scribbles of the word “wrong” next to certain sections. Occasionally there was longer explanations of the mistakes that had been taught. Even though the actual information being recounted was well beyond anything Tony had read before, he got the sense that this was high school stuff to the Asgardians. The author couldn’t have been more than a teenager, but the theories offered in the place of the official curriculum were...game changing. They lead down passages of theory that could break the way they thought about the universe. And astonishingly they made total sense.

The next section Tony came to was much less theoretical. The author was reflecting on a walk he had taken with his brother who remained unnamed and the thoughts he had had about the weapons of the guards they’d seen around. They were thoughts on improving the accuracy and power output of the energy based arms they carried on their daily patrols. Of course, Tony had no idea what those armaments could've been given the only Asgardians he'd met seemed to fight either with a massive hammer or big mind-control stick, but on reading the descriptions of them, they seemed oddly familiar.

Tony plucked up the book itself and thumbed through it until he found the corresponding page. It littered with doodles and outlined schematics in the same black ink as the writing. In a couple of mumbled words, Tony opened up the designs for his own blasters and held up the book to compare.

An excited smirk spread across his face and before he knew it, his couple of hours of curious reading before bed had become several hours of animated experimentation.

The translation came through in bits and pieces and Tony found himself immersed in each and every paragraph. He moved the holographic sections around the room as they started to make sense to him, connecting and reconnecting them, putting together the only jigsaw that had ever interested him . He drank in the theories ranging from theories of molecular chemistry to very physical applications of understanding the fabric of spacetime, a couple of them even alluding to how to navigate it in such a way that the word teleportation cropped up several times. He copied out the rough ink sketches into Jarvis’s design glowing, 3D design space, saving them away for further study and maybe even build one day when he sourced the materials he would need. Some of them he already had materials for and the instructions for the making of these doodads were as easy to follow as a recipe for Victoria Sponge. Not that Tony knew how to make that but apparently it was the kitchen equivalent to building a simple combustion engine. Obviously, Tony wasn’t about to let those just sit in his hard drive.

He was vaguely aware of the sunlight outside the building dipping below the horizon and then some time later it had reappeared but it felt like no time at all had passed. By the time the sun started to dip on the second day, there were several completed prototypes spread over the various counters of the lab, and incredibly, some of them even seemed like they might work.

As Tony had worked his way through entry after entry, an unexpected feeling began to grow in his chest. It took a little bit of introspection to work out it was and it surprised him. It felt like a strange version of regret. Regret that this guy, this genius scholar, whoever he was, had existed and Tony had never and would never get the opportunity to meet him, all he had was a leather bound tome of his thoughts written over the span of decades. They could’ve done some pretty incredible stuff together.

It was well into the night of the second day when Tony decided it was about time he got a little bit of sleep. He took the book with him as he left the lab. Jarvis was making some headway into those encoded sections and Tony wasn’t about to let it get too far ahead of him.

His first theory was that the coded sections might be either more valuable or dangerous than what was in the rest of the book, but as he sat up in bed, the book open in his lap with a glowing blue hologram overlaying the page in real time translation, it seemed to be almost the complete opposite. He found that the majoirty of the coded information was in those footnotes and margin scribbles that were glimpses into the man's inner most thoughts. They were only tidbits, an offhand, irritated comment here, a soft minor regret there, but there was a story underpinning them all, one that Tony couldn’t help but resonate with.

Underneath the genius mind that so easily unravelled the very nature of existence there was a boy who trailed after his father’s approval like a puppy who’d been bought as a last minute Christmas present to a man who didn’t like dogs. Just as Tony once had.

A line of text written following a complex interrogation of what looked like literal magic was translated as Tony watched and it struck a painful nerve.

_It took me weeks to master it. I went to show father but he...dismissed me once again. I see no use in continuing to try._

Tony chewed the inside of his lip to head off the swell of his own daddy issues and ran his eyes over the flowing script underneath the blue glow of light. In his mind’s eye, he could almost picture this young, nameless scholar sitting at his desk, writing down these runes in meticulous care. Mistakes were rare but where they occurred, the wording was crossed out with a singular neat line, knowing there was too much value in error to get rid of it completely.

A man after his own heart, Tony thought as he carefully flipped the page, a soft smile on his face as he pictured this man.

The smile faded as he began to notice the slight changes in the writing style between passages. Not a change in author, it seemed more like a change in demeanour.

Many of those personal notes lacked the concentration of the lesson accounts, particularly when they referenced the scholar's father. The loops and flourishes of the academic notes were still there but they were shakier, mistakes were scribbled through angrily to the point of illegibility. The earlier entries written when the scholar was probably only a kid were pockmarked with smudges that he'd tried to fill in or hide under doodles but it wasn’t hard to recognise a tear-stain. As the book progressed and the author aged, the smudges became fewer and further between, but that shake to the writing never left.

Tony frowned as he turned a page and found the writing suddenly stop halfway down. It was the first and only empty section he’d found in the entire thing. He thumbed through the next few pages and found them blank too. Whatever this was, it was the last entry in the book.

There was something of an explanation in the final entry but this writing was so scrawled that the translation program struggled to read it at all. Those smudges had returned and words were often scratched through so hard the page had torn. From what Jarvis could piece together, it seemed there had been some...altercation between the scholar and his father. It seemed that the scholar’s father had decided it was time for those his studies ro end. The word nonsence cropped up and Tony felt himself bristle. How dare anyone call these immense and glorious thoughts on the universe nonsense? They were awe inspiring. But the father didn't seem to agree.

Tony lifted his finger and traced the line over the page that marked the final entry in the journal and that feeling in his chest shifted. That mental image of the scholar sat at his desk seemed to gain a darkness to it. Silhouetted shoulders shook as he wrote and his fist clenched around whatever it was he was writing with, sending a sharp scratch of ink across the page and before he cast it away.

They were thousands of light-years and entire species apart, but Tony felt that familiar, deep-seated thump of rejection in his heart and he was suddenly washed with an intense desire to reach out to this nameless, faceless silhouette. He wanted to help him somehow.

This man had been brilliant, a genius among a genius race, and yet his musings were just that, musings without intent or interest in sharing until the day they had been put to stop without his consent. That regret of a missed opportunity had become a heavy longing as he had continued to read this man's thoughts. Tony wanted to talk with him, share their understandings of the universe over a glass of whiskey, exchange sarcastic comments, debate theories, hammer out the mistakes in the accepted truths. They could’ve tinkered together in the workshop, bouncing ideas between off each other as Tony brought to life this man’s fantastical inventions, making amused observations of the world around them as tiredness dropped boundaries. And maybe as the world got dark and the nights got long, they could’ve shared dark secrets or their pasts, finding whatever comfort they could in a mutual understanding.

They could’ve been friends, maybe even...

Tony flipped the book shut, shutting down the holographic displays, and smiled to himself in the remaining darkness. The absurd fantasy ran away with his thoughts, and he did nothing to stop it. What difference would a little fun make? Whoever this scholar had been, he was well dead by now, it was just a little bit of fun to enjoy as he fell asleep.

\--------

It at least a few hours before Tony woke up again, a refreshing night’s sleep by all of his measurable standards, and he wasted no time in plucking the book off his nightstand and heading back to the lab to carry on his work.

As he stepped into the room, something felt...off.

There was so many little bits of half-finished doo-hickies and scraps of materials he’d left lying around from the couple of days of experimentation it was hard to tell at first, but some things been moved. Not destroyed or altered, just moved, as though someone had gone through and inspected them and then put them back.

The only one that was in anyway out of place was the one that was now on his desk, immediately in front of his chair. It was one of the non-functional devices made up of glass and metal.

Tony approached it cautiously, noting that it now sat on top of a folded piece of paper. He reached out and tapped the device gingerly with one finger. At his touch, it began to shine with green-gold light. And where that light touched the paper, looping letters began to reveal themselves.

Tony eyed it suspiciously, then slipped the paper out from under the device but the moment it left the light of that orb the lettering disappeared. He scowled and pushed it back under the ball so the whole paper was bathed in the weird light. The writing that showed up was in English, but there was no mistaking that distinctive, needlessly dramatic handwriting.

_There were some mistakes in your translations. Understandable and easily fixable ones, so I took the liberty of correcting them. I hope you don’t mind. There is more to the book now in your possession, I’m sure you will find use in it where I no longer can. I would be excited to see what more you can achieve. Perhaps in another life we could have continued to fill its pages together._

_Curiously yours..._

The note wasn’t signed, but it didn’t have to be. Tony pursed his lips in an attempt to override the excited smirk that threatened to take over as he carefully tucked the paper in his trouser pocket and flipped open the book to the blank page.

The light of the ball of metal and glass shone onto the page and slowly words began to appear. Jarvis didn't wait for an instruction before beginning a translation.

The first line of crude English flickered into existence and Tony failed to withhold the smirk as he read the words ‘ _Screw you, father_ '.

Maybe he could hold on to that wild fantasy, just for a little bit longer.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony rubbed a hand over his face almost to the point of pain as descended the stairs to his workshop in an attempt to clear some of the heaviness from his eyes. Tonight’s nightmare had been particularly intense and definitely enough to write off the rest of the night’s sleep. Two hours would just have to do. Fuck it. The witching hour was the only personal time he got nowadays anyway, why waste it asleep? He had top alien secrets to uncover. 

Over the last couple of weeks, every minute not taken up by matters of actual importance was spent in his personal workshop. After the realization that the owner of the journal he’d been given may well still be alive, he’d transferred all of the files and prototypes he’d created to his own much more secure systems. He’d given the move the appropriate length of internal debate about how secret this all needed to be, of course. 

On the one hand, what was in the journal could be considered unknown and even potentially dangerous on the off chance he ever got anything to work, so keeping it a secret was in the public interest. On the other hand, the fact that the author of the journal was alive seemed to be something Thor would want to know and add to that he was both willing and able to wander freely into the Avenger’s inner sanctum at will was Fury and the others would probably like to be aware of...But on the _third_ hand, so far, whoever this guy was, he didn’t seem to be showing any form of malevolence, so why worry anyone? Besides, whoever it was, was a grown adult. If he wanted to pretend be dead, then who was Tony to snitch? 

It had been an admittedly short internal debate. 

Since moving everything into his own personal space, Tony had made some significant progress. Hours upon hours had been spent creating, dismantling, rebuilding, and amending schematics wherever he had the means do so. Where he didn’t, he continuously read and reread the passages in the hopes that one day he would be able to understand them enough to reproduce them in reality. 

In those rare moments that he considered to be ‘down time’, Tony would read through those sections of the journal that glowed into life under the light of the orb he had been gifted that first night. They were more complicated than the rest, but he only called it down time because the subjects of these pages alluded to what could only be considered literal magic that was so far outside the realms of human existence it was hard to believe it wasn’t fiction. Hell, a couple of years ago, he would have written it off as just that. 

These passages talked about things like the creation of personal pocket dimensions, as an example of other-worldly science. There was a musing of the limits of physical shapeshifting followed by a series of conclusions from what must have been practical tests. A description of the extent of astral projection which, according to the author’s ability, appeared to be largely limitless so long as the projector knew the object or being he wanted to project to even if they were in a place they had never been. Despite the incredible and fantastical nature of these passages, it was the casual, conversational writing style of these in particular that had Tony coming back time after time. They made him feel as though he was listening to the author speak to him directly, as though the two of them were discussing such things, teacher to student maybe, or colleague to colleague. Friend to friend. 

The first visit from the author had been by no means the last. 

On some sensible level drilled into him by both rational and irrational paranoia he knew it was something he _should_ be worried about. But given that all the visitor ever did was make small improvements to his work, it was hard to find room to complain. On a less sensible level, Tony quite enjoyed the fact that the interest that Tony had in the being seemed to be at least somewhat mutual. There was always a note left behind, always that fancy handwriting in the magic invisible ink. They never said anything other than a comment on the prototype in question, which ranged from complimentary to constructively critical but Tony had kept them all in a physical, paper file labelled ‘Casper’. It felt like a fitting nickname until he could find out the real one. 

Despite Tony’s best efforts in that regard, he’d yet to even catch Casper in the act let alone make contact. Cameras and sensors of varying types, including night vision, UV, infrared, and a few top-secret test models could see nothing but the movement of the objects in the workshop with no sign of the force that was moving them. He’d considered installing weight sensors in the floor to make sure it was actually a ghost but that would need a complete redevelopment of the workshop that he didn’t really have the willpower for. Sometimes the object itself would inexplicably disappear for a few seconds before being returned to view when it was replaced. It was irritating as hell but at least if the whole tech billionaire didn’t pan out, he now had hundreds of gigabytes of un-doctored ghost footage he could start a YouTube career with. 

It wasn’t long before Tony started to feel like he understood that fairy tale about the Shoemaker and the Elves. It was like having Santa Claus as a lab partner, if Santa Claus possessed extra-dimensional knowledge of universal physics, material and mechanical engineering, and a proclivity for sarcastic comments written in fanciful calligraphy that is. 

Tony kept telling himself the one reason he wanted to catch Casper in the act was because there was only so much scientific knowledge that could be shared through short handwritten notes. That was it. Totally it. Nothing else. Professional curiosity. 

The door to the workshop slid open with its usual hiss as Tony approached, his feet tracing the path to the coffee machine without needing any direction from the higher functions. Which was good, because the higher functions were still in the process of reengaging. The muffled grinding of coffee beans and the associated smell helped that reboot process along somewhat and Tony closed his eyes to enjoy it for a moment, wondering what he might tinker with first. After a deep breath, he opened them again and looked down to the coffee. But it wasn’t the drink that caught his attention. 

Laying on the counter top beside the coffee machine was a piece of paper that Tony could have sworn wasn’t there a few seconds ago. There was a message on it. One written in that familiar cursive. This one unhidden by any magic. This was a first. 

A single eyebrow shot up. 

_You’re awake early._

Up until this point, the notes had been hidden in or around whichever of the devices Casper had decided was to be his plaything for that night and the messages always felt a little like a teacher writing on an exam paper. Just a few words about the device in question. Very occasionally, there was a suggestion for improvement to a prototype of Tony’s own invention that happened to capture Casper’s interest. They’d never directly addressed Tony in the present tense like this, and they’d certainly never appeared while Tony was in the room. 

A burst of adrenaline coursed through his system at a sudden idea. 

He turned sharply and scanned the empty workshop. It was quiet save for the background whirring of the various machines. 

“Could say the same about you, Casper,” Tony said to the air. His voice felt unusually loud. 

He studied the room for a response, trying to spot something, anything. Maybe if he squinted, he could see something one of the many many sensors attached to the workshop couldn’t. But there was no sign and Tony couldn’t help but feel a slight bite of disappointment. He must have been scared off when Tony had turned up. Hey, at least he got a goodbye, kind of. 

He turned back to collect his drink and go back to what was going to be significantly less interesting time than it could have been. 

As he reached for the espresso, his gaze ticked briefly to the paper once again and the disappointment immediately faded. The words had changed. 

_I am afraid I don’t know who that is._

This was it. His first chance to speak to a being that talked as casually about forced memory recollection as Tony did the order of the planets and the first topic of conversation was going to have to be ‘family films from the mid-nineties'. Tony couldn’t stop the soft, amused huff that came at the sentiment. 

“Casper is the name of a fictional and famously amenable ghost,” Tony told the paper as he took the coffee mug from the machine in an attempt to cover the flutter of nerves in his stomach. It was an unusual feeling. He was Tony Stark, he didn’t get nervous around people. People got nervous around him. Ok, maybe there was exceptional circumstance here. This wasn’t just people. This was a god. “Given that you’re a dead guy that keeps on wandering in and out of here like it’s Area 51 just to fix my errors in Asgardian translations, seemed appropriate.” 

There was several seconds of silence wherein the paper sat unmoving, appearing for all the world like it was nothing more than a scribbled note. But Tony refused to look away as he took a sip of the burning coffee. He had to see for himself. His persistence was rewarded when the black words on the paper glowed with a green light and reformed. 

_That isn’t my name._

Tony winced. There was an inherent flaw in this communication system. There was no way for Tony to know what kind of tone he should be reading in. Judging from the author’s notes throughout the journal, this guy was proud and not one to take insults lightly. And right now, there was every chance he was stood somewhere in the room with him. Something told Tony that JARVIS and the Iron Man suits probably wouldn’t be able to react in time to save him if this guy wanted to do him harm. 

Maybe he should have thought about before comparing this almighty sorcerer to a badly CGI’d spirit of a child. 

“So, tell me your name,” Tony said, as nonchalantly as possible, trying to ignore the sudden shift in the fluttering of butterflies toward the tightness of fear. 

The paper shone again. _Casper is fine._

Tony exhaled a relieved breath, hoping he’d been able to pass it off as an attempt to cool his coffee. 

_Do you fear me?_

Well, he did now thank you very much, Tony thought as his stomach tightened further and he lowered his drink. Historically, caffeine never tipped teetering anxiety in the right direction. He pursed his lips a little, “Should I?” 

_Whether you should be or not is irrelevant, your body speaks for you._

Ok so he definitely can see me, Tony thought as he screwed his eyes shut and rubbed at them with his thumb and forefinger. That tightness started to creep up from his gut around his chest, “Look...I’ve just had a rough night’s sleep, ok? Nightmares. Teeth falling out, forgetting my pants, that kind of thing. Makes me just generally on edge.” 

The darkness and uninterrupted quiet that came with closed eyes went someway to calming him. There was nothing to worry about. If Casper had wanted to hurt him, he would have done it already. With the admittedly poor excuse for a calming mantra being repeated over in his mind, Tony felt that tightness begin to relax and he opened his eyes to see the new message. 

_You have nothing to fear from me._

Tony blew out one long calming breath, “Yeah, I figured,” he muttered, more to himself to Casper before shaking his head a little, and refocusing on the paper, “I do wanna keep chatting but I’m not great at the one thing at a time...thing. You don’t fancy actually showing yourself, speaking to me with a real voice so I can use more than one sense at a time?” 

_I’d rather not._

"Butt ugly huh?” Tony goaded, forcing levity into his voice to divert his thoughts further. 

_Simply hideous._

Tony smirked to himself. Maybe he didn’t need to hear a voice to recognize tone after all. At least not that familiar sarcasm, “Can you still write on this bit of paper if I pick it up?” 

_I can. Though be warned, it may be a considerable burden for you to carry for too long. How much can mortals carry?_

“I could always just ignore you,” Tony said airily 

_And yet, I suspect you won’t._

Tony just frowned at the paper, knowing full well that Casper knew he would never do such a thing. After he was certain his glower had gotten through, Tony turned and scanned the room once more before looking back, “Where are you anyway?” 

_Does it matter?_

Tony gave a half-shrug, picking up his coffee again, “Well, I'd like to not walk into you or something that's all.” 

_I'll stay ou_ _t_ _of your way._

Tony rose an eyebrow again, “So you're actually physically in this room right now?” 

_Does that make you uncomfortable?_

Those butterflies had returned and Tony shook his head, “Having an invisible Asgardian that has the inherent strength to snap my neck lurking somewhere in the room? No not at all.” 

_You're exceptionally wary of me for a man who's_ _in possession of a compendium of my inner most thoughts._

“Occupational hazard, Casper. Been a difficult few months,” he paused, then sniffed and leant one hip on the counter, “Is that why you turned up here? Looking for your diary?” 

_Initially._

“But not presently,” Tony inferred, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

_You are making more use of it than I would have._ _It holds little more than nostalgic value to me now._

“Why's that?” 

_I, too, have had difficult few months. My understanding of the universe has adapted. The man who wrote that journal no longer exists._

“What happened?” 

_I died._

“Yeah, I’d heard that rumor, starting to think that’s not true.” 

_That depends on your definition._

“Thor’s was that you were ‘with the ancestors’ now,” Tony shrugged and finally picked up the paper between the index and middle finger of his free hand, “I’ve never been that interested about ancestry but I reckon I’d know if I was a Norse Ancestor.” 

The assurance that the paper could indeed still be used was proven as it changed even as Tony moved it. _You would be surprised how well one’s ancestry can be hidden._

Tony hesitated at the odd comment, “...pretty specific. Got a bee in your bonnet Casper?” 

_Not one I’d like to share._

“Fair enough,” Tony answered, quietly relieved. There was only so much he’d probably be able to do for Asgardian psych issues. He had enough of his own to deal with. “Alright, let’s change the subject to one of my favorites. Me. Why spend your afterlife here?” he asked as he came out of his lean and headed for one of the metal frames that was the beginnings of some sort of energy generator that the journal had talked about. 

He found himself moving slower than he usually would, like he was walking in the dark. That subconscious fear of accidentally bumping into Casper at any moment, probably. But he met no resistance, even as the paper glowed once again. 

_Curiosity. You’re intriguing, as mortals go. There are not many who would understand my writings, let alone be able to recreate them with the meagre means available to you._

Tony scowled, “Meagre?!” 

_It is a relative term, Stark, I don’t mean any offence._

Tony continued to scowl as he tossed the paper onto the side and set the coffee down, “If you’re so curious, how about you show yourself and I can show just how _meagre_ this state-of-the-art workshop really is.” 

_Is that a threat?_

“Just a question,” Tony responded, trying gloss over the fact that yes, maybe it had been a poorly judged, thinly veiled threat. One that he didn’t want to see the response to given what he’d seen in the journal, “Why not show yourself? Other than aesthetics obviously.” 

The paper didn’t change. There was no response. 

“Touchy subject, huh?” Tony muttered under his breath, hoping to god that was the reason, not hat he was instead in the process of sneaking up behind him. “No one else knows you’re around by the way. Thor hasn’t come back for the translation yet.” 

There was a beat of silence and thankfully, the paper changed. _What will you tell him when he does?_

Tony shrugged, making a series of gestures to bring up the scanned journal pages to surround his prototype hoping to appear indifferent, “Don’t know yet.” 

It was an honest answer. It would have easier if Casper hadn’t shown up but the thought of handing over a complete translation of a deliberately coded personal journal rubbed him up the wrong way. If he’d have known he was alive at the beginning he might not have translated it at all. 

“Any thoughts?” Tony asked when Casper didn’t quite get the inferred question, making a show of pretending to read the holograms now hovering in the air before looking back to the paper. 

_You would keep my existence a secret from Thor? I thought the two of you were allies._

“We are when it comes to inter-dimensional security,” Tony replied, “Your existence pertain to inter-dimensional security?” 

For a second, Tony could have sworn he heard a breathy chuckle from somewhere nearby but it was gone as quickly as it came. 

_Not in the immediate future. I don’t believe the contents of that journal would be of assistance in that regard anyway._

“Then I guess it can be delayed for now. So long as you promise to let me know when you’re planning on being a threat.” 

_You will know if I plan on becoming a threat, I give my word._

Tony just smirked. It only vaguely occurred to him that they were only a couple of months since the last attempt at world domination and he was jokingly goading someone else to give it a go. Maybe it was the fact he was talking to be a bit of paper but that initial bit of fear he’d felt at the beginning of this exchange, just didn’t register anymore. 

_Sadly, I have already spent longer here than I had planned. I should take my leave._

The message wiped the smile from Tony’s face with surprising efficiency, “You’re leaving?” 

_Such devastation, Stark, I’m flattered._

“Don’t be, I’m just can’t believe you’re going without even helping me tonight,” Tony said quickly, “I mean, you’ve been here for how long and I don’t even get a ‘wrong metal’ or ‘this word doesn’t mean insert’ or whatever?” 

_I will be back to judge your advancements soon enough._

“Well...then, good talk, I guess,” Tony quipped, working to cover the odd cocktail of emotions stirred in his stomach at the news Casper was about to leave. The cocktail of professional curiosity emotions, of course. 

There was the whisper of that chuckle again before the paper shone. _Good talk._

Then it went blank, and even though he had been functionally talking to himself for the last twenty minutes, Tony suddenly felt strangely alone. 


End file.
